


Judgement Day

by violetknights



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-03
Updated: 2011-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:56:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetknights/pseuds/violetknights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s year is up and Sam couldn’t break the deal, now he’s going  to do whatever it takes to get his brother back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam can’t believe that Dean is so calm. As they sit in the diner eating breakfast on what is probably the last day of Dean’s life; Dean is acting like it’s just any other day. For a start he’s actually eating his breakfast, devouring pancakes and bacon and pouring back coffee, while Sam just miserably pokes at the untouched eggs that are congealing on his plate. Sam feels like his throat is welded shut; he hasn’t been able to eat anything for three days. He has been on edge the whole time, hoping that she won’t come early, praying that she’ll come late, praying harder still that she won’t come at all.

Dean’s voice breaks into his reverie. “Look at you!” he laughs gently. “You’re a wreck.” Sam blinks slowly not sure how to react. He wants to reach across the table and give Dean a shake or a slap, to get in his face and yell, “How the fuck do you think I should feel? You’re going to die! You’re fucking off and leaving me and you won’t let me do a thing to stop it!” But he can’t say anything because every second they have together could be their last. So he just sits, stony faced and stares at his brother, drinks him in with his eyes as though by not letting his gaze falter from Dean’s face he can prevent the inevitable and keep Dean safe.

As Sam watches in disbelief Dean flashes a breath-taking grin at the waitress and gives her the ghost of a wink while he drawls “Great pancakes darlin’.” She smiles back showing perfect white teeth and pretty dimples. Sure enough when she brings the check it has her phone number on the back with her name, Lily, written with a little heart instead of the dot over the i.  
“He shoots, he scores!” Dean chuckles as she walks away.

“You’re impossible.” Sam shakes his head while he leaves a couple of bills on the table. Dean snags his jacket from the back of his chair and they walk together still laughing, out into the sunshine and cross the road back towards the motel. As they stroll across the motel parking lot Sam turns to Dean, holds out his hand for the room key in time to see his brother clutch his arm and then his chest. Dean sinks to his knees then topples over onto the ground.

Sam watches stunned and it’s like the world has gone into slow motion. For a split second Sam sees Dean’s soul, a perfect replica standing in shock as his body dies on the ground. Then it is gone and Sam hears the distant sound of a hound baying triumphantly.

Sam drops to his knees at Dean’s side and pulls out his phone, he hits a single pre-programmed button and yells “Now!” before he drops it to the floor and hauls Dean into his arms. Then Sam is oblivious to everything and his world narrows to a pinpoint that is just Sam and his brother. The thought rattles through his brain that brother isn’t a big enough word to contain everything he needs, brother, lover, mother, teacher, friend…all comes together in just “Dean!” and that is what Sam howls over and over again as Bobby arrives with the paramedics in the private ambulance.

Sam howls even though he knows their time is up. He had still hoped, prayed for another week, another day, God please even another hour; with the tears pouring down his face. “I’ll make you pay you bitch!” he gasps, wheezing sobs rack his body as he cradles Dean’s corpse in his arms, rocks the still warm body back and forth.

“You know we have to, you know we have to,” says Bobby helplessly as the med techs prise Dean’s body from Sam’s arms and lay him onto a stretcher. They are brisk and efficient as they intubate him, pumping oxygen into his lungs and attach the pace maker that will keep his heart going until Sam can work this out, drag Dean’s soul back from hell.

The private care facility Sam has arranged will tend to the body for as long as it takes, though of course Dean knows nothing about this. He had made Sam promise to salt and burn his corpse and drink Tequila at his wake.

“Sammy dude, I mean it,” he’d said firmly. They were lying in a post-coital tangle of sweaty limbs, as Dean nipped lazy little love bites into Sam’s collarbone. “I’m not risking you. If she thinks I’ve welched on this deal then it’s bye bye baby! So you just make sure I’m gone and see me off in style.” Dean had been uncharacteristically tender during those last weeks, holding Sam in his arms for hours, spending whole nights exchanging gentle kisses that made Sam feel like his heart was breaking. Dean had been greedy at the end for everything Sammy could give him, it was too late now to worry about being emo or girly.

Sam had lied, had looked his brother in the eye and said  
“Okay dude, if that’s what you want.”  
While all the time he was arranging the care home, the private ambulance and crew.

Sam was smart and as Dean’s year had begun to pass with terrifying speed he had begun to realize that Dean would never let him break the deal he’d figured out that he’d need to have a back up plan. It was going to need money, probably a lot of money to come up with anything halfway to workable. Sam had never really thought about it before, Dean had always dealt with the money, he’d run the card scams, hustled the pool. It was part of what made Dean tick, being able to do what he was good at.

Sam gave it some thought then called a friend from Stanford, one of the few people he’d kept in touch with. At his suggestion Sam maxed out a couple of credit cards, invested the money through a finance lawyer, his friend’s father. So Sam has money now, more than he’ll ever need. He could drop dead tomorrow and Dean’s body would be cared for as long as it could be kept going.

  
Sam feels numb as he drives the Impala to Bobby’s. He has to figure out the next step in his plan, how to get Dean’s soul back so he can reunite it with the body. Sam can’t bear to go and visit it, knows that it’s not his brother lying there with tubes and wires coming out of every orifice. He wants it looked after obviously, wants it as perfect as possible for when Dean gets back but he can’t look at it; not while it’s just an empty shell, lying there like the animated corpse it is.

The manager of the home will call Bobby every week, tell him how many times the physiotherapist has been in, what nutrition has been given to keep the weight stable, when the limbs start to contract and curl. Sam can’t hear it; he knows that the only thing he wants to hear is the one thing they’ll never tell him.

After another week of checking books and consulting Bobby’s contacts, Sam knows it’s time to move on. He’s beginning to get a sense of the direction he has to go in, but still he needs more information. So he says goodbye to Bobby and leaves the Impala in his care.

“You take care of Dean’s baby you hear me? He’s gonna need it again someday I swear.”  
“I will son, and I’ll call you if I hear anything.”

They fumble their way through a quick, clumsy hug then Sam strides away through the junk in Bobby’s yard and Bobby retreats into the house.

Sam shoulders his duffle and sets off, trails a lingering hand over the sleek black paintwork of Dean’s baby as he passes it. He knows he’s got further to go than the Impala can take him so he hitchhikes a ride to the bus station then takes a greyhound to where Ellen can pick him up. He had explained to her on the phone what he needs; access to Ash’s research. Of course most of it is long gone but Sam thinks he knows now what to do to get it back; Ash’s research and Dean’s soul.

Ellen gives him what little she’s got left of Ash’s belongings, just some garbage that had been tossed in the basement and so saved from the brunt of the fire. A couple of passwords scribbled on a shabby menu from a Chinese takeaway; an old laptop that Ash had busted the keyboard on and a map of the world with seemingly random spots marked on it. A red spot set in the middle of the Sahara desert, another two in the arctic wastes of the North Pole and a fourth set in the middle of nowheresville, England. Sam knows it’s pitiful, the hope that these puzzle pieces give him. But it’s all he’s got, the only things to cling to in the wreckage of his life.

He moves into the basement of the new roadhouse and sets to work. He tacks the map to the wall, networks Ash’s laptop to his own and links it all to a printer. His little subterranean cell becomes the whole of his existence. Ellen brings him food which is usually cold and stale when he remembers to eat it, if he eats at all. He hardly sleeps because the nightmares are so terrible.

His time is spent in maniacally searching the internet interspersed with phone calls to Bobby to ask him to interpret arcane symbols or to clarify points of ancient lore. Sam prints page after page of planetary configurations, orders spell components from esoteric specialists, has long rambling instant messaging conversations with members of pagan covens all over the world.

Occasionally he comes up to sit in the bar, where he sits morosely knocking back shot after shot of cheap tequila. He eavesdrops on conversations and buys drinks for any new hunters passing through. He asks the same questions over and over again. “Do you know of anyone who’s been brought back? Has anyone ever gone down to hell? Will they be the same when they come back?”

************

It takes him three months before he emerges hollow eyed and victorious and Ellen just knows this is it; he’s not just come out for a random drinking session. He’s buzzing with a frantic energy as he bursts into Ellen’s kitchen, and she can barely understand the words that tumble from his mouth as he tries to explain.

"I found the answer Ellen, some of Ash's data and some of his contacts were uploaded to a back up site. There **is** more than one Devil's gate! I can get him back, Ellen, I can."

Sam paces unable to hold himself still “…and if I can get to the right one at the right time I can just walk on in there and bring back Dean’s soul”.

Ellen laughs I horror at him when he tells her, chokes back her dismay at the madness of his plan.

”No way Sam, just…no way!” She yells. “ It’s taken us a year to make a dent on cleaning up the mess from last time, you’re not doing it again.”

Sam just looks at her, his mouth pursed up in a thin line of grim determination. “It’s Dean,” he says firmly, like that’s all the explanation she should need.

When she doesn’t back down, just stares right back at him he says angrily, “I’m not leaving him down there!”

“Sam, you can’t risk letting anything else out,” she warns.

He slumps down into a chair opposite her and they sit at opposite sides of her kitchen table, neither of them wanting to give in for a second. Photos of Jo watch him from the dresser, adding to the guilt that weighs on Sam’s shoulders, like Atlas holding up the weight of the world.

Sam wipes a weary hand across his forehead, his eyes burn with fervor in a frame already painfully thin. He’s living off nervous energy and coffee that he drinks the way Dean used to, and Ellen thinks _Maybe this is it, maybe he’ll just burn himself out like a star._

“Do you have any idea what he’s going through Ellen?” He asks softly, “Cos I do.” His red rimmed eyes are bloodshot and tears seem about to well up but he dashes them away.

“I see him in my dreams Ellen. Every night Dean gets racked and broken, has his heart torn out or his balls cut off...”

Sam’s voice drops to a harsh whisper; he swallows convulsively and licks his cracked lips. “Last night I saw them flay the skin off him like peeling an apple, but he’s already dead, Ellen, so he can’t pass out from the pain.”

Sam’s eyes are wide from the horror that is still playing on a loop in his head and his voice has a hysterical edge to it. “He can’t escape into death; he can’t even close his eyes against the awfulness ‘cos they take his eyelids first.”

Ellen pales and reaches for a bottle of whisky from the dresser. With a shaking hand, she pours generous shots for herself and Sam, spilling some of the liquor on the table. “Oh God Sam… I never thought….I didn’t know.”

“It’s real Ellen, he’s really suffering this. That Goddamned crossroads bitch is there gloating and laughing. I know she’s sending me these visions. Letting me know just what Dean has to suffer.”

Sam’s out of breath, his lips dry and feverish as he knocks back his shot. “It’s my fault Ellen, it’s my fault he sold his soul. I couldn’t save him before ‘cos he wouldn’t let me, but he’s fulfilled his part of the deal now, he can’t stop me bringing him back.”

Sam’s really breathless now and there’s a determined glint in his eye, but there’s an odd glitter to it that makes Ellen wonder if he’s still completely sane. She passes him another drink and then nods her assent. “OK Sam I get it, but you have got to let me and Bobby back you up. You hear me? I’m not letting you bring Armageddon down on us.”

Sam smiles a strange sad little smile, rusty from disuse and he brings out John’s journal. From inside he extracts Ash’s map, it is crisscrossed with lines and marked with red dots. Sam taps with his finger. “Look here” he points at the bottom of England, “A devil’s trap.” Now he says it Ellen can clearly see the sign is drawn on some remote part of the country, ruled lines joining up a series of marker pen dots clustered around a central point. “Where is it?” she asks.

“These dots here and here are churches built on top of old pagan sites, these lines are ley lines and here, right in the center is an old holy well. I’ve been in touch with a coven in the West Country; they say the gate is right behind it. It’s tiny and the trap should prevent anything from getting out.”  
Ellen can’t believe she’s getting sucked into this plan ‘cos it’s all kinds of crazy. “Call Bobby,” she urges but Sam shakes his head.  
“Not yet, I can’t…”  
He breaks off and sways a little. Sleep deprivation and strong malt are not a good combination.

Ellen pats his arm gently; not sure if she wishes she were 20 years younger or wants to be his mom. She does know that she has to hold him though, whatever the reason. She stands up and walks around the table, pulls his massive body into her arms and cradles him close. His long hair is straggled and dirty and he needs a shave. She doesn’t know how long she holds him for, feeling him warm and solid as he sags against her. She breathes him in, savoring the musky, masculine scent of him.

She’s suddenly aware that he has gone limp and heavy, his breathing evening out and she knows she can’t cope with this alone. Gently she leans him forward so that he’s slumped on the table. He’s so exhausted he barely even stirs.

Ellen breathes out a long sigh full of pain and loss as she thinks of all the hunters that have passed through her life, Bill, John, Caleb, Ash, Dean. Then she goes to call the only one she has left.

*************

Dean is chained to a wall, his hands above his head wondering how long he will last in this hell before he loses his mind completely. He sees it in the tormented souls all around him, as they deteriorate to become writhing masses of pain.

Flames flicker just out of sight, lending an orange tint to the scene before him. She is so achingly beautiful in a reptilian sort of way. Her tongue flickers across her lips and she runs an approving hand over Dean’s chest, twisting his nipple until sweat breaks out on his forehead. He’s silent, the muscle in his jaw pulsing with the effort not to make a sound. “Oh you are so much fun!” she purrs, “You’re the best deal I ever made.”

“It’s still worth it, bitch!” he rasps. “It’s worth every second to know Sam is alive.”

She waves her hand in a lazy figure of eight and at the gesture a ball of swirling green mist appears in front of them. Dean shuts his eyes not wanting to see but his eyelids are peeled back by an invisible hand. Dean sees Sam, gaunt and haggard, sleeping on Ellen’s kitchen table, shot glass in his hand, liquor spilled on the table.

With a startled moan, Sam wakes and throws his head back. For a second their eyes meet and Dean sees the madness that lurks in Sam’s face before the mist disperses and Sam disappears.

“You didn’t think of that did you, Dean? You knew you couldn’t live without him. Do you really think he can bear to live without you?” She kisses him again just for the hell of it and he twists away, he’d spit if there were any moisture left in his parched body.

Gracefully she sinks to her knees and takes his flaccid member in her mouth and now he groans, she’s skilful and determined and he has no choice as she wrings the pleasure from him in waves that border on agony, The betrayal floods him and finally he breaks and begins to sob “Sam, Sam, Sam” over and over again.

*************

Sam wakes with the image of Dean’s naked body burned into his retinas. He shoves the chair back so abruptly it falls over and he turns to the sink. He dry heaves over the basin until a sour stream of whisky stinking vomit finally leaves him gagging and spitting. Sam turns the faucet on and runs cold water over his hands, splashes it up onto his face. When he turns round, Bobby is standing right behind him and Sam wishes he could be angry with Ellen but he doesn’t have the energy any more.

“You can’t do it son,” Bobby says gently. Sam wishes so hard for a moment that his life was different, that Bobby was his Dad and Ellen was his Mom and things were just, normal. _They’re all the family I’ve got left… but I’d kill them both without blinking if it got me Dean back._

Bobby pats Sam’s shoulder, all awkward and clumsy, but still more fatherly than John Winchester ever was. Then he pours himself a shot from the bottle that Ellen had left on the table. “You listening to me, son?” he says gruffly. “‘Cos I ain’t gonna repeat myself.” Sam nods but stays standing, leaning back against the countertop.

“Think for a minute about your brother...”

“He’s all I ever think about!” Sam retorts angrily.

Calmly Bobby knocks back his shot and pours another one. ”Sam, I saw your Daddy just like you did, I know you think all you gotta do is open the door and Dean will walk right out.”

He pours another shot and slides it across the table towards Sam.

“You gotta be careful Sam; it’s not gonna work like that again. You gotta make damn sure that the only thing that gets out is Dean. If you don’t it’ll be the end of this world. Dean wouldn’t want that, son, you know he wouldn’t.”

Sam smiles wanly, he is still determined but the mad glitter is fading from his eyes. “I know Bobby, I’ll be careful I swear.” He picks up the chair and sits down opposite his friend. “The English gate is only passable for a few hours each year, I’ve got till Samhain to figure it out but then I think I’ve got to go in and find him.”

Bobby paled, “You can’t do that, what if you get trapped in there?”

Sam drained the shot then shoved the glass back across the table to his friend. “Well then, at least I’ll be with Dean again, won’t I?”

The air here is still and sweet and for the first time in a long while Sam finally feels he can breathe. Each morning when he gets up Sam stands outside and takes great deep breaths of the stuff, senses it nurture his body, like it’s some kind of elixir; life giving, healing. _Dean would so call me a girl for even thinking stuff like that._

Sam knows how close he came to losing himself completely, drowning in despair and grief and Dean needs him to be strong. This land he has claimed as his own is green and lush, he looks at his small corner of the world and it makes him feel safe, like he belongs here. Sam hasn’t belonged anywhere for a very long time.

Sam knows he didn’t have to leave America for months but somehow it feels right to go now. He feels if he stayed another minute with Bobby or Ellen, he’d have suffocated, disappeared under the weight of their concerned disapproval. _That’s if they didn’t have me committed and ruin any chance I’ve got of getting Dean back._

So Sam goes to stay with his Stanford friend for a few days while he sorts out a passport and some English currency.

“Are you ill, or on drugs?” Brian asks bluntly when he sees Sam.

“Nah, my brother’s sick, I’ve got to go to England, there’s someone there who can help him.”

It is as near to the truth as Sam can get, he doesn’t like lying to his friend.

“Well dude, we’ve got to get you sorted out or homeland Security will have you in for questioning quicker than you can say shoe bomb.”

Sam looks down at his hands, nails ragged and bitten, clothes hanging off his gaunt frame; realizes that he doesn’t know when he’d last shaved.

“Yeah, I guess. I haven’t been really thinking straight since Dean…got sick.”

Brian smiles at Sam, they’ve been friends since Fresher’s week. They had even double-dated for awhile, Brian going out with Jess’s roommate for a few weeks. The two men had remained friends even after Brian and Sarah had separated.

Brian had helped Sam make Jess’s funeral arrangements and still checked by every so often to put pink roses on her grave for him. Although he hasn’t seen Sam for over two years, they’ve still e-mailed frequently. Brian had been happy to help when Sam had called him for financial advice and he is glad to see him again now.

“Okay, then. I’ll show you to the guest room where you can shower and shave; then I guess we’d better find a mall.”

Sam stays with Brian for a week while he pulls himself together. It does Sam a lot of good to be able to talk about Jess, about Dean; though of course as far as Brian is concerned Dean is in a coma at the Peaceful Twilight Hours rest home.

Brian helps Sam fill his days with warmth and friendship; makes sure Sam starts eating properly again and taking care of himself. “Cos dude, you are rank!”

At night Sam’s dreams are still haunted by the visions that the crossroads demon sends. Nightmares of Dean dying in agony over and over again; each way more horrible and brutal than the last but always with Sam’s name on his lips.

*************

Sam knows he has to move on; it is so tempting to stay with Brian as some sort of substitute Dean. But there is still so much research to do; so much more that he needs to know.

So Sam begins the first step on the journey that will get Dean back and he boards a plane for England. It is a weird journey, the silence unnerves him; he is so used to Dean’s bitching and moaning. It is made all the more surreal by the knowledge that he will have Dean’s soul with him when he makes the return flight, because if he isn’t able to get Dean back there will be no return flight to make.

Sam stays in a little farmhouse for a few days while he finds something more permanent; he’s got eight months left to finish his research and get Dean back.

One of the first things he does is visit the Devil's gate. He hikes for a couple of hours over scrubby moorland until he finds the innocuous little well. It is overhung by a tree that people have tied little ribbons and strips of cloth onto.  
The rags dance merrily in the wind and the whole thing looks so quaint and folksy; so harmless that he thinks maybe this is the wrong place.  
Sam crouches down and places his hand on the stone sill. Sam can feel the evil contained below humming and throbbing through the stone as a terrible pain sears his skull. Blood pounds in his temples and he flings himself backwards, scrabbling desperately across the ground in his effort to get away.

When he reaches a safe distance, Sam pulls a water bottle from his backpack and drinks deeply. He is still panting heavily, little aftershocks tingle up and down his arm and through his fingertips. Right place; wrong time. There are still a lot of preparations he will need to make before he can make the gate open for him.

Finally Sam is glad of his mixed heritage; he is human enough to cross the Devil’s trap but still demon enough to open the gate. He is sure of that now because as much as the human in him had been repelled by the ancient evil; lurking deep inside something had stirred, wanted to respond to the seductiveness of it.

*************

A lot of people come to this part of the country to escape so Sam fits right in. He has built himself a yurt in a rented field set as close to the edge of the Devil’s trap as he can get. Sam finds himself buying stuff for his home, making it feel cosy with kilim rugs and cushions. It’s the first time since Stanford he’s been in the same place for more than a few nights. He’s got to live here for eight months so he might as well be comfortable. He feels guilty then, for thinking of his own comfort while Dean is going through hell.

The temptation to punish himself again by not eating or drinking is strong but February in England is cold, not Minnesota cold but bad enough. There’s something about chopping logs for the fire that makes him hungry and the food he buys from the local farm shop is nourishing. Sam begins to regain his former condition and enjoys being outside; although he still spends hours trawling the internet for more information, fills notebook after notebook with spells and incantations written in his messy scrawl.

One day while Sam’s working outside chopping logs he sees a woman watching him over the gate. She’s too far away to see really and the sun is in his eyes but he waves and she waves back before disappearing over the hill.

After that he sees her most days running or walking her dog, it is rare to see anyone other than the taciturn farmer who turns up once a week to collect Sam’s rent. He’s not used to being alone and he’s beginning to miss human company; so one day he makes sure he’s loitering by the gate when she passes. She stops to talk when he says “Hi”.

She’s really nervous, jumpy and he feels every one of his freakishly tall inches as he towers over her so he sits down. It’s like taming an animal, he’s afraid to get too close but he’s intrigued so he perseveres, chatting inconsequentially about the weather, how he’s getting to love England until she sits down on the bank near him.

When he asks where the nearest diner is she laughs at the Americanism and flicks her hair out of her eyes; tucks the blonde strands behind her ears. Sam notices her earrings, tiny silver devil’s traps and he points at them.

“Those are unusual?” he says questioningly.

“We all have demons to fight,” she says hesitantly then jumps to her feet.  
“Got to go!” And she’s running already, vaulting the gate in her hurry to be gone.

When she comes back the next day, Sam feel like it’s too late to ask her name and she doesn’t ask for his. This time when her hair fall in her eyes Sam’s the one who reaches up to tuck it behind her ear and she doesn’t flinch or move away.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course I know who he is the first time I see him; my friend had sent photos, but I’d have recognised Sam Winchester anyway. For a start he is built like a small mountain, and the American accent is a bit of a give-away too. He is also way to clean to be a real hippy. Not like all the others who come to live on the land for a while, then make their way back to the urban banalities they suddenly find they miss.

His hair is shoulder length and falls in soft floppy waves that made me long to touch it. I’m not prepared for the sheer presence of him either and his sweater is the same faded hazel as his eyes. When he smiles which isn’t often, little lines crinkle around his eyes adding depth and character. I didn’t mean to come here, I thought my part was over and done but I couldn’t stay away.

There is warmth about him; his gentle brooding intensity that attracts me like a moth to a candle. I of all people should know how dangerous it is to play with fire but I’m beginning to crave it. The ice splinter in my heart is melting, the walls are coming down, use whatever damn cliché you like. I know I should only be here to do a job but each evening when I run now the endorphin rush is tinged with anticipation. It curls in my gut like a fishhook drawing me down deeper.

I tell myself I’m just following orders, just going to him because my friend asked me to but I know there is something more.

It is his arms that undo me finally. For months I convince myself that it is just innocent friendship, just an escape into temporary tranquillity. We talk about inconsequential stuff, skirting round the edges, neither of us lying but not telling the truth either.

It happens on one of those rare occasions when I spend more than a few minutes with him. The sky is just beginning to darken for the evening, rooks are wheeling around in the sky above the trees as they prepare to make their ragged way back home. We are sitting on the ground outside the yurt, a small fire burning in front of us. I poke it with a stick to watch the sparks fly while we talk.

I look up from the smouldering embers and see his hands deft and sure as he pours coffee into two mugs, our fingers brush as he hands one to me and I feel it like an electric shock running through my spine. His forearms are tanned and lean, dappled with fine gold hairs. My breath hitches in with a sudden gasp and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from crying out.

“Sorry, is it too hot?” His concern is instant and genuine.

“Nah” I make myself grin and feel a warm curl of lust begin to stretch and uncoil deep within my belly. Then because this place, this friendship is different from anything I have anywhere else I tell him.

“I thought I was dead inside, frozen, but I feel something. Feels like I’m waking up, coming alive.”

He lets out a long, slow breath and sits down beside me, and we drink in silence. He is warm and solid against my side and when I finally put my mug down it is so I can run my fingers over the muscles of his arms. His breath hisses between his teeth as I gently tug the tiny hairs, scratch patterns into his golden skin. He laughs a strange, shaky little sound and leans down to kiss me. It’s a long time since anyone made me feel so tiny and fragile. The touch of our lips lasts a second before I realize it’s too late; I’ve been here too long. As I jump up to go I feel a pulse throbbing faintly between my legs.

I leave a lot out of the report I send tonight.

 

*************

 

When she leaves, Sam feels her absence as just one more empty space in his heart. Her fingers on his skin have awoken long buried sensations.

Dean had never been big on the random touching. Sometimes though, if he was tired or drunk or just feeling lost, he would want to curl round Sam, using his fingers to explore every inch of Sam’s skin, as though he were trying to imprint it onto his fingertips. Sam guesses that he had been trying to save it up against a time when Sam would leave him alone again.

“Never again Dean,” Sam promises to the chill night air. “I’m going to get you back, and I’ll never leave you alone again.”

Sam checks his laptop, the battery is nearly out so he starts up the little generator and plugs in the adapter. He feels his focus sharpen and he realizes there is still work to do if he is going to be ready by October.

That night as he browses the messages on the community he has set up, he finds the final piece of the puzzle. An Inuit Shaman who crafts soul boxes carved from sacred trees. He spends the rest of the night messaging Bobby who has been researching the guy. Bobby has tailed him for days now, followed him everywhere, checked his mail, even tapped his phone. The guy is genuine and the box will work. Now Sam will be able to contain Dean’s soul until he can reunite it with the body.

Sam has begun to create his own rites for this, a patchwork of Native American and Celtic pagan rituals that will restore Dean to him. The countdown has already begun, there are prayers and purification’s that Sam must do in readiness.

He posts a final question on the message board, hoping that Bobby or Ash’s contacts will come through for him again.

How do I find him? When I go down into Hell, how do I search for him?

 

 

There are just two weeks left until Samhain when Sam sees her in the local supermarket. There are children with her, two little girls and they are laughing together at some shared joke. She doesn’t see him because he hides behind the wine shelves until she passes by. He watches her go out to the car park, where he sees there’s a man waiting for her.

When she gets near the car the laughter stops and her eyes go dead. The man doesn’t help her load the bags into the car or even put the littlest kid into the car seat.

Sam’s fists clench uselessly, he doesn’t know what to think or how to act as he watches her struggling. He wants to help but of course he can’t do anything for her here.

He knew she had children though she had never spoken of them. Sam had traced the lines on her skin lying in the firelight at dusk. Sam had known there had to be a real life out there for her, a life that she couldn’t let him in to.

The man is shouting at her now, and the kids are looking hunched and miserable as they climb into the car. She wearily walks back towards the store, something he needs that she has forgotten. She walks right by Sam but makes no acknowledgement of his helpless presence.

That evening she doesn’t speak when she arrives but her love making is wild and almost savage. She leaves his chest and shoulders marked with love bites and scratches down his back. Afterwards she lets him hold her for a while. Silent tears roll down her face and Sam doesn’t know how to help her. When he tries to talk she silences his mouth first with her fingers then with kisses. She rolls on top of him and they make love again, rocking together under the stars.

Afterwards, when she has dressed she says “Have you got anything of his?”

“What?” Sam is thrown, doesn’t understand.

Her smile is weary and ancient and Sam suddenly knows that there is more to her than he has realized. He is afraid by how much he has let his guard down around her. He pulls his shirt on feeling suddenly vulnerable.

“Christo,” he mutters under his breath.

“Don’t be stupid,” she says evenly but she’s still smiling at him.

“Dean, have you got anything of his?” She repeats slowly.

Sam flips open his wallet and pulls out Dean’s amulet.

“Put it on!” she commands and he wonders vaguely if the magic they have been working together is why he obeys her.

“It will draw you together, when you go for him,” she explains.

She reaches out and smoothes a hand over Sam’s forehead, tries to soothe away the concern that furrows his brow.

“I’ve talked to you so often over the months, we’ve chatted on message boards and through friends for so long that I knew you long before you came here.”

“How?...Why?...” he stammers, still confused.

“I was the contact from the coven when you wanted to find out about the Devil’s gate.”

She takes his hand and kisses his knuckles, saving up the taste because she knows it’s her last.

She kisses his eyelids, strokes his arms, presses herself close one last time.

“You still need me, I’ll cast a back up circle to hold the demons in until you come back with him.”

Sam lets out a long shaky breath, “Thank you!” he mummers, “Thank you!”

“It’s Okay,” she grins. “I promised Bobby I’d look after you.”

 

*************

 

She’s never been beautiful but tonight in the light of the waning moon, the power that infuses her lends her an almost unearthly loveliness. All the preparations have been made; they’re as ready as they’ll ever be. Sam strips to the waist and she checks over the symbols and sigils she’d hennaed on to him the previous day. She’s satisfied with her work and Sam is confident that his research is sound, the protection will hold for the few hours they need.

She hands him a small wooden box with a bear carved into the lid.  
“I’ve given it as much protection as I can. It’s up to you to keep it safe now.” She says. This is the spirit box, Dean’s temporary home until Sam can reunite his soul with his body.

Sam checks his watch, anxious to get started but knowing that the time has to be just right.

“Nearly,” she smiles.

Sam feels soothed by her calm as she sets out candles and pours out a salt ring. I’m going to hell, I’m going to hell chants over and over in his head. Anything for Dean, anything. Don’t let me be too late, don’t let me be too late.

He makes his own final preparations, washes his hands and face in the holy well, pours out a measure of red wine onto the ground under the tree.

“Blood of my blood,” he mutters. “Flesh of my flesh…”

The circle is cast, the candles are lit, Sam is as pure as he’ll ever be. It’s time.

It takes Demon blood to open the gate. Sam is thrumming with nervous energy, barely able to stand still as she cuts his finger with a knife and lets a few drops fall onto the stone sill that tops the well. This is the first test, to see if his Demon heritage is strong enough.

The stone shimmers and parts to reveal a flickering glow and emits a foul, sulphurous stench. Sam can hear her softly chanting as he prepares to step through.

“May the road rise to meet you  
May your journey together be crowned with success  
May the wind be always at your back...”

 

Sam steps into the breach; amulet clutched in his fist as he walks into Hell.

 

The scenery is bizarre, the very rocks and pathways look tormented, twisted and broken. There is an orange, flickering cast to the light as though great fires are burning just out of sight and there is a stench of sulfur in the air.

Sam clasps the amulet in one hand, Ruby’s knife in the other and strides forward, sure and steady. All around him are shrieking, screaming agonies but Sam doesn’t falter. The heat is staggering but he strides relentlessly forward because he can feel Dean drawing him on.

He loses track of time but thinks he’s been in there an hour when the denizens realize he is there. Demons and tormented souls alike part before him like the Red Sea and Sam wonders again just what the blood that flows through his veins means. The demons are twisted wraiths of black smoke and tortured flesh, their voices assault his senses invading him through ears, eyes and mouth, the stench of sulfur becomes overpowering.

The voices are guttural and rasping, so far from anything human that it fills Sam with horror to think he can understand them. The noises wash over him like a tidal wave, it threatens to engulf him.

“Lead us!” “Master!”, “Tell us what to do!”, “…follow you” ”Master!” “Lord!” “Serve you” “command us, command us, command us! Master!”

Sam feels the seduction of their voices, they want him so much, want to worship him, love him, obey him. He tries to shut them out, pushes forward trying to find his brother. He calls out Dean’s name, as though it will offer him protection. The voices respond by rising to a deafening cacophony that feels like it is raping him, invading every part of his body.

Finally he can’t take it anymore; he collapses in a huddle on the ground, his arms covering his head. A sob is wrenched from his throat as he gasps out his brother’s name over and over again.

************

 

Dean wakes up when he feels a sharp tug in his gut, feels like his entrails are being drawn out. “Can’t you guys come up with something new?” he spits.

There’s no answer so he opens his eyes and finds that he is still naked and alone in his little corner of hell. The Demons have grown bored of him lately and he’s often left here for days now. In the beginning he’d tried to run away but he’d found that he could walk for days, walk till his feet were ragged and bleeding and he hadn’t the strength to go on. Then he’d stop to rest and when he woke he’d be right back where he started. Most of the time he didn’t try to leave anymore; not unless he was really bored anyway.

He feels the tug again.

“What the..?” Cautiously he stands up and looks around but everything seems the same as it always is. Tormented souls are being tormented, demons are being demonic; it’s just another day in hell. But something feels different and Dean’s trying to work out what it is when the force, whatever it is pulls him to the doorway.

Dean can’t help but feel a little excited, something to break the routine ‘cos endless hours of boredom interspersed with random bouts of demonic torture got old real fast. For some reason he gets a picture in his head of his amulet round Sam’s neck and the vision fills him with hope, something that’s usually in short supply round here. Dean breaks into a run still not knowing where he’s going but sure that he’s heading in the right direction.

Dean sees a crowd of Demons clustered around a figure slumped on the floor; his heart begins to beat faster because there’s no mistaking the figure of his brother. Sam is naked to the waist, his body covered with strange signs and symbols, his hands are over his ears and he is rocking back and forth.

The demons are just standing and watching him, Dean has grown used to their strange buzzing voices over the year but he can see it is their bizarre screeching which is tormenting Sam even though they don’t touch him.

Dean shoves them out of the way to reach the prone form of his brother.

“Sammy!”

He flings his arms round his brother and Sam clings to him like a life raft, buries his face into Dean’s neck. As Dean hauls his brother to his feet Sam sags against him and presses Ruby’s knife into his hand.

“Tell them to back off Sammy, they’ll listen to you,” Dean rasps.

“I can’t!” Sam mutters helplessly.

“I thought you were the brat prince, they’ll do what you say.”

“If I...I...If I give them a command I’m theirs.”

He is wide-eyed with the horror of this knowledge and his distress tears at Dean’s heartstrings.

“I’d have to stay here and lead them… I’ll never be free!” Sam’s voice breaks and chokes on a sob.

Dean squeezes Sam’s shoulder, trying to make Sam feel the strength and reassurance of his presence.

“Okay…it’s okay,” Dean drawls soothingly. He looks around at the Demons who are watching him like a pack of hyenas, and holds the knife up for them to see.

“How ‘bout you all give us a little space?”

The demons growl and mutter but they shuffle a few steps backwards. They stare at each other for a while, Sam seems to be recovering now their voices aren’t invading his mind but he’s still weak, one arm draped round Dean’s neck for support.

A murmur through the crowd suggests that someone is coming, someone more important that the minions surrounding them. The crowds part to reveal a shimmer of red sequins as the crossroads demon appears. She licks her lips suggestively as she sees how protectively the boys are holding each other.

“Ooh brothers! I could really get into some of that action!”

Dean eyes her cautiously. “Hey there, Lilian! Good of you to come and say goodbye.”

She ignores him and smirks unpleasantly at his brother. “Well done Sam! You worked it out all by yourself. Father will be proud.”

She casts a disdainful look at the minions, “Shoo now, there’s nothing here to see…yet!”

 

The grumbling crowd disperses as she indicates the direction that Sam came by. “You’d better hurry; the gate closes again pretty soon.” She blows Dean a mocking kiss. “After all, you don’t want to be stuck here for another year now, do you?”

“Well now Lilian, I’d like to say I’ve enjoyed my stay with you, but you know what? I haven’t,” Dean drawls. He turns away then whirls back round.

“Hey bitch. You could have done what you wanted to me and that was part of the deal. But you know what I can’t forgive?”

She looks at him blankly.

“Showing Sam what you were doing.”

Before she can blink the knife is thrown, straight as an arrow through the air and lands, buried to the hilt in her throat. She chokes and claws at it for a second before the flames glow from within and she crumples to the ground.

Dean retrieves the knife from her body and they stumble their way through hell to the opening in the rocks that marks the inside of the gate, Sam can hear the faint chanting wafting through the gap.

“Is this goodbye Sammy?” Dean asks. “Is this where I do the fairy light thing like Dad and disappear?”

“I don’t think so, I really hope not anyway.” Sam grins and pulls out the soul box, “If this thing works then I can reunite you with your body.”

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice is almost a growl, “If it works I am so going to kick your ass.”

They stand and glare at each other for a few moments then Sam clutches Dean to him. Their lips meet in a frantic, desperate kiss that leaves Sam panting when he breaks away. Then he holds out the soul box, clicks the lid open and drops the amulet in.

As Sam watches Dean pales and loses his solidity, the knife clatters to the ground. He sees his brother transform into a Dean shaped vapor that sort of spirals down after the amulet into the box. Sam shoves the lid on tight.

He picks up the knife and hugs the box to his chest as he climbs through the rift and back into the world.

************

 

At the well she is waiting and she leans in to pull him out. They sit panting at each other for a minute, idiot grins plastered over their faces. Then she uncorks a bottle of holy water and washes the blood off the stone sill. The fissure seals itself closed, like a zip sliding shut. Wordlessly they pack up the detritus of the rituals; candles, salt, flasks.

It’s hard for Sam though, he’s doing it one handed; the treasure he carries is so precious he’s not going to put it down even for a second.

“Thank You” he says softly, “For everything. You gave me the strength to keep going, stopped the waiting from driving me mad.”

In the moonlight she looks impossibly young and fragile, he feels torn, desperate to get home and reunite Dean with his body and guilty for leaving her to the reality of her life.

“It’s okay, I’m leaving tonight, I only stayed this long because I owed Bobby a favor.”

She grins. ”Anyway you’re not the only friend I made on the internet!”

He laughs then and pulls her close for a moment before they head back to the village. Sam feels it’s apt when they part at a crossroads, one last chaste kiss before she disappears into the night. Then he hurries back to pack up his things and get to the airport, his work isn’t over yet.

 

 

Sam looks in horror at the pale, thin wraith on the bed. It’s hardly recognizable as his brother, the hair has been cut wrong and he looks small, frail even. The Doctor puts a reassuring hand on his arm. “I know he looks bad Sam, but actually he’s doing really well. His heart and lungs are still strong. I’m sorry; there’s been no sign of any brain activity though.”

“There wouldn’t be,” Sam replies grimly. At last he reaches out to touch the body, the skin is warm to the touch and Sam is surprised, he’d thought it would feel cold, corpse-like. It’s been less than twenty four hours since he held Dean in his arms, in Hell. But Dean there had been strong, vital; seemingly unbroken despite the year of torment. For the first time Sam realizes what he is condemning Dean to by bringing him back to this body.

“Go on, son, it’s time,” Bobby encourages quietly.

Sam anoints Dean’s chest with oil and places the soul box over Dean’s heart, he lifts the lid. Souls want to be with the right body and he hopes it won’t take too much to make it stick. Gently he tips the amulet out of the container and lifts it over Dean’s head. Bobby and Ellen watch anxiously, Bobby’s hand snakes unconsciously round her waist; both are scarcely able to breathe. Sam begins to mutter an incantation under his breath, a reminder to Dean’s soul that it needs to be reunited with his body.

The Doctor stands ready at the head of the bed; she’s paid too much to question any of the freaky shit that’s going on. When a strangled choking sound comes from the man on the bed she calmly reaches over and extracts the breathing tube. “Just cough for me, Dean; you’re safe, easy now.”

She holds the oxygen close to Dean’s face as he chokes and gasps. “Sammy!” a single strangled whisper escapes his lips. Efficiently the doctor checks the monitors and as each shows signs of independent function she begins to remove the machines and wires that have kept his body alive for the last year. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes she’d never have believed it, would have said that the pretty young man was in a persistent vegetative state that would last until his body twisted and shriveled and his organs failed.

Already impatient he tries to sit up, pulling at wires, ripping out the feeding tube with hands stiff from disuse. Looking around frantically, he reaches out towards his brother who is watching him like he is seeing God or something. “Sammy!” he croaks again, and his brother breaks out from his reverie and takes a step towards the bed. Sam sways just a little before fainting dead away, collapsing in a graceless heap on the floor.

************

 

The rest home had wanted to send Dean to a hospital, wants him to be checked out properly. The Doctor calls it a miracle, the nurse who has been his main carer for the past year cries when she sees him. Dean refuses to stay, unable to speak above a mouthed whisper, his throat damaged by a year on the ventilator; he still makes his feelings very clear. He is going home.

So Sam goes through everything with the Doctor, how long it will take for his digestive system to start working, physiotherapy exercises to enable him to start walking again, antibiotics to help his system cope outside the rarefied atmosphere of the home. They all leave together, traveling in Ellen’s station wagon to stay with her at the roadhouse while Dean begins the long road to recovery.

Dean finds it hard to reconcile the body that he’s had for the last year with the one that he’s living in now. His hell body felt pain, endured unspeakable agonies day after day but nothing was permanent. Each time he awoke he was whole, unmarked and ready for them to start all over again. This body that he’s in now feels alien; old and stiff.

Sam had made sure it was taken care of; turned and oiled to prevent bedsores, massaged and exercised to minimize muscle wastage, eyes bathed with artificial tears. But still it creaks when he walks, he isn’t been able to break into a jog let alone run. He can’t speak or tolerate solid food but the real tears come easily enough; sometimes he thinks they’ll never stop.

They’ve been here nearly a week now, him and Sam and Bobby. He’s sitting on the porch behind the new roadhouse and he’s cold despite the sunshine. If that isn’t ironic nothing is. Sam had tried to put a comforter over his knees but Dean had thrown it off. All Sam does is fuss, it is driving Dean nuts. This afternoon Ellen has finally dragged Sam away to help her get groceries. “Why should I carry my own bags when I’ve a big hulk like you around?” she’d laughed.

Bobby sits with him for a while but one sided conversations are hard and Dean still tires easily. Finally Bobby leaves Dean in peace, going in to catch up with another hunter who is visiting the roadhouse.

Dean flexes his fingers, making his hands into a fist and then stretching them wide. He is finally getting the flexibility back, is beginning to hope that maybe there will be more than this, sitting in a chair on the porch, like he is already eighty. He wants to get back in training, push his body to start running, shooting, fighting, hunting again. It is just that he is still so damned tired all the time. Maybe that will change when he can eat again.

He sees Ellen’s station wagon returning, watches her pull up. She and Sam are both laughing as they get out and grab bags of groceries from the trunk. Sam’s messing around; he’s so hyper he’s goddamn bouncing, twenty six years old and he still acts like an overgrown puppy. And for pity’s sake, what is there about watching Sam unload freakin’ groceries that’s making him cry again?

Dean angrily dashes the tears away with the back of his hand and he stands up on legs that still don’t feel like they belong to him to go and greet his brother.

************

 

It takes another three days for Sam’s little game of happy families to go sour. They’re sitting at the little table in Ellen’s kitchen, eating and chatting. Ellen’s a damn fine cook and Bobby tells her so and she blushes.

Dean has a sudden flash of revelation that there is something going on between them, and it’s followed fast by the realization that he’d seen Sammy sat right here in the vision the demon bitch had shown him. It’s all topped off by a wave of nausea at the smell of the fried chicken when all he’s got is a freakin’ protein shake.

He slams out of his chair and finds his voice for the first time since he came back.

“Pack!”

His voice is harsh and Sam jumps up to obey him, his face white with shock. Bobby and Ellen say nothing, too canny not to have expected something like this; they know Dean’s a proud man. Bobby understands that Dean needs to be free, now more than ever.

Out by the car Dean holds his hand out for the keys, “I’m driving!” he rasps in a tone that leaves no room for argument. And however shitty he still feels it’s good to be back behind the wheel of his baby again.

“Dean I…” Sam’s face is all worried concern and puppy dog eyes and there is no way Dean is dealing with any of that shit now.

He flips on his shades, pushes home a tape and cranks the volume up loud.

’Get your motor running  
head out on the highway  
looking for adventure  
and what ever comes our way  
like a true natures child  
we were born, born to be wild…’  
(Steppenwolf)

 

*************

 

Dean drives for three hours, the music and the highway eating up his anguish with the miles. He finally stops, pale and trembling outside a motel. He turns off the engine and sits, clutching his keys, panting slightly, he’s not sure he can move. Sam’s giving him a look that is fifty percent bitchface and fifty percent tender concern, before he says “I’ve got it,” and lopes off towards reception.

When he comes back with the keys Dean’s managed to get out of the car. In a strange way he’s feeling better, stronger and he carries his own duffel to the motel room despite Sam’s protestations. He sits on the bed and the sagging motel mattress feels more like home than Ellen’s comfy beds.

The next thing he knows it’s nearly morning and he’d fallen asleep where he was. He wanders through to the bathroom and has a piss, then takes a shower just because he can. He stands under the hot water, washes his hair with Sam’s girlie shampoo, thinking about why it is that he feels dirty. It’s not like his body had been exposed to the filth of that place.

When he’s finished and dressed in clean clothes Dean realizes he’s hungry. He watches Sam sleep for a moment then takes Sam’s wallet from his jeans. Well, Dean’s not sure that any of his credit cards work anymore and he’s not about to take the chance now.

There’s an all night diner across from the motel, Dean’s tempted to order steak with fries and eggs and a beer; but he realizes that it probably wouldn’t be a good idea. He has soup and milk, eats slowly and when that stays down he treats himself to a piece of pie for dessert. Dean savors every mouthful.

Now he’s tired again, but it’s not the bone numbing exhaustion of the past few days, this is just tired. He pays the check and tries flirting a little with the waitress, he’s gratified when she flirts back but she’s about fifty so it probably doesn’t count.

Back at the motel he strips to his boxers and Tee shirt and gets ready to climb back into bed. He takes another look at Sam sleeping. The henna tattoos on his chest are fading but he still looks different somehow, sharper, older. Gently so as not to wake his brother Dean slips into the bed beside him and curls around his brothers naked body.

*************

 

When Dean wakes again daylight fills the room and Sam is sitting beside the bed looking at him as though he’s afraid Dean will vanish again at any moment.

“Hey Sam,” Dean croaks, his voice is coming back now, but speaking still takes effort.

“I thought you were never going to wake up.” Sam replies, there’s something about his voice, something a little off that makes Dean feel afraid for him.

“Come back to bed Sam,” Dean’s voice is gentle but the invitation is clear.

Sam shakes his head sadly. “I don’t think so,” he replies. “I’m sorry.”

 

 

Dean balances himself on one knee and aims carefully, steadying his .44 with his left hand. He fires off all eight rounds one after another. Seven cans topple off the fence he’d balanced them on, but the eighth remains stubbornly in place.

Patiently he reloads the weapon and stands the cans up so he can practice again. He thinks he’s nearly got his eye back in again, is nearly as good as he’d been before. But nearly isn’t good enough. He continues practicing until all the ammo has gone and the daylight is fading.

As he straightens up for the final time he looked with satisfaction at the empty fence. He can hit all eight cans nine times out of ten now, these are odds he can live with.

“Hey”

Sam’s voice is low and soft. Dean hadn’t heard him approach.

“Hey, Sammy. Did you find anything?”

While Dean has spent the afternoon pushing his body to relearn its old skills, Sammy elected to stay in the motel room checking for anything that might need hunting. They haven’t gone on a hunt yet but Dean is keen to get back to it as quickly as possible.

“Nah, just a couple of basic hauntings; I passed them on to Bobby.”

Dean grins his trade mark shit-eating grin. In the past few weeks on the road he’s filled out again, got back some of his tan and freckles, had his hair cut. He looks like himself again. By contrast Sam seems to be almost fading away; his nights are still plagued with nightmares though he won’t let Dean comfort him.

They fight all the time, about stupid things mostly, whether or not Dean should go out for a beer, whose turn it is to drive, who gets first shower. Resentment simmers like an undercurrent to everything that Sam says or does but Dean can’t figure out what he’s done to upset his brother.

Sam still persists in sleeping alone, pushing Dean away if he gets too close; physically or emotionally. They’d had their biggest row the previous evening about Dean getting a motel room with one bed. It was a desperate attempt to force the issue between them. Sam had retaliated by saying he’d start getting two single rooms from now on if Dean didn’t change the booking.

When Dean returned with the new room key he’d glared at Sam. “There ya go princess, hope that makes you happy.” They didn’t speak a word to each other again all night. Breakfast this morning had been tense and strained. Still, Sam coming to find him is a peace offering of sorts and Dean is happy to accept the olive branch.

“All the big bads are hidin’, they know Dean Winchester’s back in town!” he drawls, cocking his gun and indicating his pile of dented cans. Sam snorts, “Yeah, that’ll come in handy if we find a haunted soda factory!”

“Damn straight!” Dean agrees.

They head back to the motel so that Dean can clean up before going out to eat. Sam is still hushed and distracted. Dean does his best to draw him out but Sam just sits quietly, toying with his food and answering in monosyllables. As soon as Dean has finished Sam pushes his plate away with the food largely untouched.

“You gotta eat Sammy, you’ll get sick.”

“Not hungry,” Sam mutters, shoving back his chair. Dean pays the check with a credit card, he still can’t get used to the fact that Sam has legitimate cash and follows Sam back to the motel.

In the middle of the parking lot Sam stops abruptly. “We’ve been in so many,” he remarks quietly.

Dean looks at him questioningly. “So many what Sammy?”

“Motels. After a while they all look the same.”

Dean nods, not sure what Sam is saying. “They do,” he replies carefully.

Sam sits down suddenly, his legs giving way beneath him. Dean half-catches him as he falls and lowers his brother to sit on the curb out side their room.

“Take it easy, Sammy,” he soothes. “I said you need to eat. Let me take you inside.”

Sam shakes his head. “I can’t breathe in there.”

Dean sits on the curb beside him, he knows better now than to try and touch Sam but he sits as close as he dares. “Talk to me Sam,” he orders softly.

“It might have been here,” Sam says, so quietly Dean has to lean right in to hear him. “The diner looks familiar so it might be, but they all look the same.”

“I don’t understand Sam, you’re gonna have to tell me what you mean.” Dean is starting to feel really freaked now, Sam’s voice is a flat monotone, and still so quiet.

“Was it here you died?” Sam’s voice hitches with a sob and he starts to shake, Dean sees a car drive into the lot.

“Okay Sammy, we can’t do this here,” Dean says firmly. He hauls Sam to his feet and guides him into the motel.

Sam stands like a dummy in the middle of the room, staring ahead, not really seeing.

Dean presses down on Sam’s shoulder so that Sam sits down on the bed. His vacant, staring eyes are giving Dean the creeps. He wants to do something, anything that will make his brother come back to him. If this is the price he has to pay for coming back it’s way too high.

Dean kneels on the floor in front of Sam and puts his hands on either side of his brother’s face. Sam’s skin is hot to touch, feverish and his lips are cracked and dry when Dean covers them with his own.

The kiss is enough to rouse Sam from his stupor and he struggles to pull away. Dean holds him securely, “No Sammy, this ends now,” he says firmly. “I swear, Sam. I can’t take it any more. If you didn’t want me why did you bring me back?”

Sam moans low and keening in his throat but stops struggling. Dean keeps talking, desperate to try and reach his brother, to pull Sam back from wherever he has gone.

“Sammy, I’d rather be back there than be with you like this. Not being able to hold you is hell for me now.” Dean moves his hands to Sam’s shoulders, tries to make Sam look at him, but Sam’s expression is still empty.

“Was it what you saw in there, what that place made me do?” Dean shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have killed her, should have shown her mercy.”

There’s still no response from Sam and Dean is getting ever more terrified that Sam has gone, disappeared deep within himself where Dean can’t follow.

“Tell me Sammy, just tell me. I know it’s too late to fix it, but I need to know. Was it what she did to me? I couldn’t help it I swear.”

Finally Sam moves, slowly shakes his head. “No!” he whispers, “No!”

 

Eventually Sam lifts his head and looks at Dean; his hazel eyes are huge and blaze like stars in his haggard face. Dean finally realizes the torment that is filling Sam. How could he have been so blind to the anguish that is consuming his little brother?

He pulls his brother close, cradles Sam in his arms like he used to when Sam was a little kid.

“Sammy you’ve gotta tell me, Dude! You got me out of hell there’s nothin’ we can’t get through”.

“I’m tired.” Sam mumbles. “So tired...”

“I know Sammy; let’s get you to bed yeah? You get some rest we can talk about this later.”

Dean slips Sam’s jacket off and swings his legs onto the bed. Sam clutches at Dean’s arm.

“I can’t Dean. Can’t sleep… the dreams will come back.”

“Talk to me first then Sammy, tell me what you dream.” Dean strokes his brother’s hair gently. Something in Sam has finally broken, Dean can see that now. He doesn’t know what the final straw was, it doesn’t really matter, he just prays that he will be able to fix it.

“Remember when you were a little kid and had nightmares about the things we hunted? If you tell the dream it loses its sting, can’t hurt anymore.”

Sam is silent for a long time; so long Dean thinks he is asleep. Dean takes off his boots and jacket, turns out the light, lies on the bed beside Sam. He wants to take him in his arms but is afraid to disturb his brother’s rest.

“I wanted to stay Dean.” Sam’s voice is soft in the darkness. “I wanted to be worshipped, wanted them to love me.” His voice is fraught with pain that tears at Dean’s heartstrings. “I could feel them in me, in every part of my body. I could have been lord of the whole world.”

Dean pulls Sam towards him, trying to offer comfort with the warmth of his body, but Sam struggled free.

“I can’t Dean. I’m evil! I can feel it lurking inside me.” Sam reaches out a trembling hand to lightly touch Dean’s cheek. “At the moment you are pure. If I touch you, if we… you’ll be defiled! You’ll be filthy like me and one day you’ll have to go back.”

Dean gasps he hadn’t had an inkling of the path that Sam’s thoughts have taken, hasn’t given a thought to what Sam had gone through down there. For Dean the physical horrors of being trapped in an infirm body have been far more appalling than anything the demon had done to him.

“Sammy, dude! That is just… no! Sammy, you’re wrong.” Dean leans over and switches the light on again, needs Sam to see his face while he speaks. “You aren’t evil, Sam,” Dean says slowly. “You might have the potential to be, but you made a choice down there. You chose not to lead them, you chose me! Think about it Sam, why did you choose me?”

“You’re my… you’re… I love you!” Sam says wretchedly.

“I saw a lot of souls down there,” Dean replies gently. “Souls that were there for being greedy or violent or malicious. There wasn’t one that was there for love Sam, not one.”

Dean scrutinizes Sam’s face to see if his words have sunk in. Sam is silent for so long Dean wonders whether he is too late, whether Sam has finally retreated into the madness that has threatened for so long.

“Sammy?” he asks, fearfully.

“I think I could sleep now”, Sam says, still sounding impossibly small and young. “Will you stay with me?”

“Always.”

Dean sits on the bed with Sam’s head in his lap, the warm weight of his brother is familiar yet strange, he hasn’t really held Sam for so long. Dean strokes Sam’s face tracing a path with his fingers; joining up the dots of freckles and moles with his finger. Under Dean’s loving touch Sam’s breathing evens out and finally he sleeps.

*************

 

Dean wakes up to the feel of Sam’s hand tracing lazy circles on his stomach. He is aware of Sam placing feather light kisses on his jaw, eye brow, nose. Dean is so contented; so complete he wants to lie there, lost in bliss forever. Eventually he opens his eyes to see Sam looking at him with that special smile that has been absent for so long.

Sam moves lower to lick the side of Dean’s neck, his warm tongue making Dean shiver with desire. Dean is instantly, achingly hard and he moans into Sam’s neck and arches towards him. Sammy‘s tongue is doing wicked things to his nipples, licking and biting, teasing. Dean moans again, the sound high and needy but he doesn’t care.

Sam’s hands come back to cradle each side of Dean’s face as he rolls them over so that Dean is lying over him. Skin on skin, their cocks rub together, the friction so intense that Dean cries out. Sammy drives his tongue deep inside Dean’s mouth and they are kissing like they’re going to turn each other inside out.

“Now Dean!” he commands, and Dean might be the one who’s going to do the fucking but he knows he’s Sam’s bitch to the end of the line. “Now!” Sam demands again; Dean leans over to grope in his duffel for lube. As gently as he can Dean coats his fingers in the slick and uses them to prepare his brother. One finger, two, then three and his tenderness is too slow, too tentative for Sam who is pleading and desperate in his need for Dean to be filling him.

Sammy is writhing on the bed, muttering and calling Dean’s name over and over again. “Dean, yes, yes, love you! Dean now, please now.”

Dean eases himself forward and Sam is so tight, so hot, so perfect, Dean wants to never be anywhere else. He breathes deeply, one arm bracing himself so he can look at Sam’s face. Sam is flushed and abandoned as he pushes himself forward to meet Dean’s thrusts.

The sensation is almost more than Dean can bear. He knows he hasn’t got long so he grasps Sam’s cock in his hand, matching his strokes to his thrusts. Sam’s hands are kneading Dean’s shoulders, his large hands grip tightly enough to bruise.

Dean can feel he is close. So close and when Sam licks up his neck to bite his ear it sends him over the edge. The orgasm is so shattering that he loses himself in it. He feels Sam pulsing around him as Sam comes too, his hot seed gushes between their bodies.

They collapse together in a tangled heap on the bed, so entwined Dean feels that they can never be separated.

“Keep me safe,” Sam whispers. “It’s your goodness that purifies me.”

Dean mouths hot breathy patterns into Sam’s collarbone, sucks a mark into the skin of Sam’s neck.

“You pulled me out of Hell, little brother. You’re stuck with me for keeps now,” he grins.

Sam’s reply is a throaty chuckle that sounds so healthy, so utterly Sam that Dean knows that he’s brought Sam back too.


End file.
